


A Chocolate Muffin at Dawn

by EndlessSoliloquy



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M, Fluff, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-21 03:55:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30015774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EndlessSoliloquy/pseuds/EndlessSoliloquy
Summary: After an unending night of preparing reports on the movements of the mortal queens, Azriel looks to the River House for an enchanted coffee pot. He finds something else entirely as the dawn turns to day.(Azriel’s Point of View.....somewhere in A Court of Silver Flames?) (Not AU, but perhaps just another timeline somehow.)
Relationships: Elain Archeron/Azriel
Comments: 7
Kudos: 66





	A Chocolate Muffin at Dawn

It was far too early for any kind of pleasantries. 

Azriel passed Cassian in the hall of the House of Wind, taking in the way his brother looked almost rabid for a chance to discuss some unknown topic with him in the dim, blue light of the dawn filling the House. He merely held a hand up in front of Cassian’s face, his eyes only half open and shoulders stiff with the hunch he’d been positioned in all night. 

Cassian paused, tilting his head. “Rough....day? Night? You look terrible.” 

“I’d rather not explain at the present moment,” Azriel replied, moving a finger to his temple. Without a wink of sleep to fuel him, he was on his way to the River House to relay information he’d gathered in the past few days about the whereabouts of the mortal queens. He wasn’t sure if Rhysand and Feyre were even awake yet, but Azriel knew he was in dangerous territory of potentially oversleeping if he rested now. 

Cassian smirked at him, clapping a hand to his shoulder in encouragement. “We’ll talk later.” 

Perhaps his brother had understood the level of exhaustion Azriel felt, because Cassian simply nudged him with that hand on his shoulder, moving to bounce down the hallway with a particularly saccharine smile on his face as he rounded the corner. He made a mental note to ask Cassian about it later—so rarely did Cassian _bounce_ in delight, indicating there was a piece of good news Azriel suddenly looked forward to hearing.

Smiling at the thought of his brother’s well-deserved happiness, however early in the morning, Azriel emerged to the brisk, misty air outside the House. 

There was much to do today—he silently prayed that the River House would enchant a coffee pot for him. 

~*~

The dew in the air as he landed at the River House slicked Azriel’s wings a touch, dripping to the stones below when he shook them out at the top of the pathway. The house was in slumber—the only sign of activity coming from the swirling smoke rising out of the chimney. Turning the knob as silently as possible, Azriel noted a pair of lilac slippers covered in mud next to the door, the earth soft and wet on the worn silk. He wondered if they had been there for very long at all. 

He paused—undoing his own laces as his shadows swirled around those slippers, straightening them and scraping off a bit of mud on the surface. A soft, low chuckle escaped him as he noted how much dirtier the silk was than the leather of his boots. He entered the house with that laugh warming his face, stepping into the quiet peace of Rhysand and Feyre’s new home. 

The stillness of the air was settling to him—his shadows fell to the cool marble floor of the foyer, spreading like fog over a moor. The sun, still yet to fully peek over the mountains, managed to illuminate the rooms around him in that pale blue light of the dawn. Ahead, Azriel noted the delicious scent of roasted coffee beans as he sent a silent _Thank You_ to the magic enchanting all of his family’s residences. 

“Oh,” Elain breathed, a melodic break in the silence of the kitchen as Azriel pushed through the door. Her eyes widened, a smile raising her cheeks and twisting her lips softly. “Good morning.” 

She stood before him, barefoot, a cup of that brewed coffee in her hands. The apron on her waist was tied in a bow on her back, markings of flour dusted atop it. On her nose was a smear of chocolate. Azriel sucked in a breath, unsure whether to continue through the doorway. 

“Good morning,” he replied, clasping his hands behind his back. “Apologies—I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Elain’s soft laughter filled the room. The sound was sweeter than the song of any bird he’d ever listened to. She placed her coffee on the kitchen counter as she motioned for him to enter. “You didn’t. I can usually hear your footsteps, but you took off your shoes this time.” 

He blinked, taking a few slow steps into the room. It had never occurred to him that _anyone_ noticed his movement, his shadows usually masking the sounds of his footsteps on the ground. He might have asked her to elaborate, had she not already taken the liberty to stretch on her toes to reach for another mug on a shelf in front of her and pour a full mug of coffee from the brewed pot. 

“You like a splash of milk, correct?” 

A nod. Azriel sat at the table, as quiet as possible, his eyes never leaving her form as she spun to the refrigerator for the milk. 

He cleared his throat, finding it suddenly dry. “How did you know that?” 

He’d known she was perceptive—her Cauldron-given power had reflected something already obvious in her character before being Made. Azriel didn’t know if it was perhaps her Seeing power that had informed her how he preferred his coffee, but somehow it occurred to him that however she knew, she had indeed _remembered_ such an ordinary fact about him. 

“Is it a secret?” She tilted her head to the side, raising her eyebrows a touch. “I noticed you once pursing your lips at a cup that Feyre handed you. She drinks hers black—she gave you the same.” 

Her wide, warm brown eyes held his stare for a moment. Then, pouring a splash of milk into the cup with one hand, she tucked a strand of her golden brown hair behind her ear with the other and handed him the steaming drink. 

“It’s...just not something anyone has ever asked,” He said slowly. “I usually make it myself.” 

She pushed her bottom lip up a bit, eyebrows knitted together. “I suppose it...might not have come up, even if if you all _are_ five hundred years old...” Behind her, a kitchen timer in the shape of a ceramic rooster sounded a gentle alarm, rousing her from her thought. 

She was uncommonly polite. Azriel knew her upbringing would prevent her from outright insulting his family members for being so nonchalant about his trivial preferences, but he could see in her confusion that it somehow bothered her that they didn’t care to ask. Under different circumstances, she might have defended them for such an oversight, but it was clear that paying attention to _him_ was something she made a point to do, and would think that others would want to do the same. 

The near-silent brush of her long, powder blue skirts on the tile floor mesmerized him for a moment before he tore his gaze away to the cup in front of him. Taking a sip felt like awakening from the most restful sleep he’d ever had—It was the perfect amount of milk. 

“Would you like a muffin?” 

He nearly spit out his sip of coffee. Looking up to her, that smear of chocolate still on her face, she held a tray of speckled muffins with bright pink oven mitts. She again tilted her head to the side at his outburst, raising her eyebrows in question. 

He set the mug down on the table. “I—I can perhaps get one myself, if that’s alright.” 

“Please forgive me—did I offend you?” Her eyes widened as she set the tray down on the cooling rack on the counter. “I must admit, it has taken me a bit longer to understand the customs of your people.” 

_Your people._ For a moment, Azriel felt saddened by her choice of words to exclude herself from what was now _their_ culture. Although Elain was not the last of the Archeron sisters to come to terms with her new life as a Fae, she had still used the type of language that removed herself from the narrative of Fae culture. Azriel thought that no matter her role at the Night Court, Elain would perhaps always feel like an outsider in Prythian, caught in between a human life she missed and a Fae life that was forced upon her. It hurt him to consider, knowing how deep and painful that isolation could feel—how much it could affect her to not feel like she belonged. 

“No,” Azriel quickly said, “No, you’re very kind. It’s you who should forgive me...it is impolite to react in such a manner when you mean well.” 

He stared at her again. She began removing the muffins from the tray, keeping her attention to him while she worked. Azriel wished for nothing so much than the ability to move to her, to help her, to be in her orbit. 

“May I ask you to explain why it is...improper, then, for me to offer you the muffin?” 

Azriel stilled, wincing at the question he knew she would ask. He looked away from her, murmuring, “It...It is customary for a female Fae to offer her mate food as a confirmation of their bond together. It has thus become a more...commonplace way to indicate interest in a partner in Fae culture.” 

The blush spreading on her cheeks was quick and bright. Elain bit her lip, taking a moment to remove her other oven mitt and tuck her hair behind both ears. 

“I see,” she said quietly. She looked down to those muffins again, pressing her lips together. “I didn’t know that.” 

“Of course,” Azriel started again, “I—I don’t mean to embarrass you. They smell delicious, and I would love to—”

“I’d like for you to have one,” She nearly whispered, “If you...if you’d like one.” 

Azriel nearly stopped breathing. The sun, now beginning to illuminate the room from the large, sparkling windows behind Elain at the counter, gently warmed them both in the silence. He stood from the table, ever so slowly, and moved toward her. 

They hadn’t dared to be so explicit in the emotions that had been quietly growing each time they looked at each other in these past months. After the rescue from Hybern’s camp and Elain’s role in the final battle—wielding Truth-Teller in the finest manner the blade had ever been used—they could both admit to a number of lingering glances and brushes of skin that ignited something between them each time. This, however—an admission of something.... _more _—meant that it hadn’t just been Azriel daring to dream of an alternate reality where Elain could indeed offer him a muffin as something more than just breakfast.__

__Seeing Elain’s eyes still on the plate before her, Azriel released a breath that made his wings tremble softly, standing so close he could smell the jasmine of her skin and the soil that likely stuck to her petticoat. So gently, as if to prevent breaking the shield that had paused everything else around them, Azriel brushed a scarred hand to her smooth, delicate chin, moving it to face him. She stared back, eyes so wide that he saw the world begin and end in the warmth of that brown he could stare into for the rest of his life._ _

__Silently, he reached the other hand up, wiping away the chocolate on her nose with a towel from the counter. The blush in her cheeks brightened, a smile blooming on her lips again. Azriel returned the smile in earnest—she could have said anything in the world to him and he wouldn’t have heard it over the pounding of his heart beneath his chest. They laughed together, a symphony of night and day, dusk and dawn, shadow and light._ _

__Lowering his hands from her face, he stepped back once. “Your freckles are getting more pronounced.”_ _

__“They are?” She said dreamily, the sound a melody he would’ve sworn he’d heard in a past life._ _

__He nodded. The freckles that indeed crept along her cheeks and over her nose were the color of cinnamon, splashing atop her collarbones and shoulders beneath the sheer fabric of her sleeves. He thought of an exchange they’d had long ago about the sun’s rays, and wondered if she remembered to wear the sunscreen that he’d asked Madja to send to the River House for her. Unwilling to admit that it was specifically for Elain, he had asked the healer to place it in all the bathing rooms unceremoniously._ _

__“You’ve been gardening,” Azriel said simply. Elain beamed at him, nodding vigorously as she untied the apron at her back. She moved to the sink, the enchantment flowing the water over her hands that were delightfully speckled with chocolate from the muffin tray._ _

__Wiping her hands on a towel, she sighed, “I’ve been ‘round already to the orphanage. Their peonies are going to come in really nicely with the new beds Cassian helped me build,” she glanced at him for a moment, adding with a blush, “I’ve been told I’m rather clumsy with a hammer and I didn’t want to bother Feyre to use her magic.”_ _

__Azriel had known she often visited the orphanage a few miles down the Sidra. She’d told him before about it, about the children that she’d met, and the stories they told her as she taught them how each of the flowers she planted were unique and required certain help to grow to their fullest potential. She’d let them help her place the flowers in their new soil—their new home—and encouraged them to come back out to the garden to check on how they adjusted to their new surroundings. They’d report back to her on how much water the flowers might need that day, how much shade the nearby trees were starting to provide, and how the warming of the weather helped prevent any damage that might have come with the winter cold._ _

__“I’d like to see that one day, if you’d show me.” A soft request, putting her under no pressure if she did not wish it. “The children must love having you there when you visit.”_ _

__She twister her lips again in a small smile that made her eyes sparkle, reflecting that beautiful sunshine now warming the room thoroughly. Azriel thought that, for a moment, it looked as though she was ready to cry, thinking of how dearly she loved tending the different gardens in Velaris and visiting with its people._ _

__“They are such beautiful little ones,” Elain smiled, a memory passing by her eyes. She hesitated for a moment, looking as though she might have been considering her manners before taking a step toward Azriel and gently, slowly reaching for the scarred hand that rested on the kitchen counter. The touch of her skin was like no feeling he’d ever been graced with in his life as she continued to him in that same melody he couldn’t get enough of. “They’d love you, too, I think.”_ _

__Unable to do so much as nod, Azriel merely blinked at her. Without another word, she squeezed his hand and turned to go back toward the door—to her muddy slippers and her gardens._ _

__Azriel watched her depart, reaching slowly beside him to the plate on the counter. The light in the room was as bright as the smile on his lips as he took a bite into the chocolate muffin he hadn’t realized he was waiting his entire life to eat._ _

**Author's Note:**

> To the Gardening Tools - I’m so grateful to you all for inspiring me to begin writing again! 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has sent kind messages and left kudos for my previous Elain/Azriel fic. I’m incredibly humbled every time. 
> 
> xo, Lindsay


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